


A Meeting of Ice and Fire

by Thaliel (Alodia)



Series: A Prince or Princess to Bring the Light [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Series Spoilers, Some Plot, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alodia/pseuds/Thaliel
Summary: He approached her throne, a large furred cape, black as night, streaming out behind him and framing his face, blending into his hair and making him truly appear as a wolf from the north. He lived up to his namesake, at the very least.Jon bowed, stopping at the bottom of her dais, “My lady.”Daenerys remained seated, “You are Jon Snow, King in the North?”Jon straightened, but inclined his head, in affirmative.“Tyrion tells me you have something to discuss.” She said, her chin lifted high and her eyes suspicious. No one ever came before her willingly unless they wanted something from her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just my wish for how the meeting between Jon and Dany would go. Pure speculation and self indulgence. I apologize in advance for any details I may have overlooked from the series. I did my best to keep it faithful, and it will be fairly short. I just couldn't contain my hype for the new series.

Landing in Westeros was stranger than Daenerys could imagine. Everything here was colder than she was used to, but also more colorful and greener. Everything had more life and was more threatening. At least, that is the way Tyrion made it sound, and everything she saw backed that up.

The waves seemed to hit the shores with more vigor, the trees rustled twice as loud at half the breeze, and the wolves keening in the night laid the backdrop for her first couple of weeks on the shores of Westeros. Tyrion coordinated scouting efforts with Varys, and between the two of them every hour was spent listening to either political intrigue or spy’s reports.

When Tyrion wasn’t reporting to her the latest gossip, he and Yara teamed up to catch her up on all of the major political events she would need to know from the last decade. The big things, she knew, but the finer items, the little nuances that made each house either love or hate one another, she had to quickly learn.

Daenerys loved politics, loved playing the game and outsmarting her enemy, but even this was a little much for her. She did not give a single flaming fuck which house married whom, why, and when, she just wanted the general landscape so she could gain an idea of how to work it to her advantage. But Yara and Tyrion insisted, and she trusted them, so she learned.

Everyone and everything seemed to have some kind of hidden agenda and emotion, even the people and families they wanted her to side with were somehow fraught with danger and intrigue, and while the same was true across the sea, the weight that this was Westeros, _finally_ Westeros, made everything that much more important. She would listen to every petty slight every house had either delivered or received for a hundred years if it meant she would win.

And she would win.

None seemed to be more enmeshed in recent politics than the Starks, now apparently holed up in Winterfell after having staged a bloody battle to reclaim their home. Although, Tyrion told her, _the_ Stark was really a Snow, but more Stark than any of the Starks left alive, and possibly who had ever lived. He had the same penchant for dramatics as his father, with the cunning of his mother, and the straight forward attitude that their entire family possessed.  

 It was admirable really, his determination to avenge their father and to take back their home, it made them formidable allies. An entire group of people so ready to sacrifice themselves, they were willing to climb over a mountain of bodies to get to their destination.

But they could also make deadly enemies.

So Tyrion arranged a meet between the two houses, to test the waters and to see where things might fall between the two. They might be rivals, but they might also be friends, and the fastest way to determine that was to have the two come face to face. Either Jon Snow would join her, or his frozen home would be the first to fall under her dragons.

Tyrion gently reminded her that, again, she did want someone to marry, and Jon Snow would be the perfect man to marry. He really was kind, Tyrion insisted, and Yara had to agree.  The whole lot of the Starks was a tricky subject, but really, they seemed consumed with surviving and defending what was theirs, they were mostly absent of the wider political ambitions the other houses were rife with.

Daenerys could relate. All she wanted was what belonged to her, and that was Westeros. All of Westeros.

The Dragon Queen was at loathe to leave her long abandoned and hard-won home, so Jon Snow himself was to come to her, alone, without his army behind him. It was an enormous risk, but a task which he carried out faithfully, knowing how important Daenerys and her Dragons were to his fight against the White Walkers. The easiest way to obtain dragon glass?

From a dragon. Or three.

Sansa and the Onion Knight would maintain the north for the few short weeks he would be gone to visit the Dragon Queen, and hopefully he would return with what they needed. If not from the dragons themselves, then from the island they were on. All of Dragonstone was said to be made of dragon glass, and soon he would see for himself.

On the day he arrived, Daenerys paced about her room, anticipation eating at her before her first meeting with a noble from Westeros.

Would he spit in her face? Proclaim her a false queen from a dead name?

Nothing was certain.

When Jon did arrive, Daenerys found herself intrigued, never imagining the humble man before her the King in the North. He came in and a chill seemed to fill the air around them, as if he had brought the North with him. Daenerys had to fight not to shiver, and kept her face impassive.

He approached her throne, a large furred cape, black as night, streaming out behind him and framing his face, blending into his hair and making him truly appear as a wolf from the north. He lived up to his namesake, at the very least.

Jon bowed, stopping at the bottom of her dais, “My lady.”

Daenerys remained seated, “You are Jon Snow, King in the North?”

Jon straightened, but inclined his head, in affirmative.

“Tyrion tells me you have something to discuss.” She said, her chin lifted high and her eyes suspicious. No one ever came before her willingly unless they wanted something from her.

“They do call me that,” He said, smiling up at her, “But you can call me Jon. Easier that way.” Raising his chin, he ignored her question entirely.

Daenerys glanced at Tyrion, who smiled and shrugged, and then at Jon, “Again then. Why are you here?”

Jon coughed, his hand moving to rub at his neck before dropping at his side, “I have come to discuss procuring your aide.”

She scoffed, her violet eyes narrowing, “My aide? Rather bold don’t you think?”

 Jon nodded, “Aye. It is.”

“Then why ask it?”

Jon stepped toward her, taking in her get up for the first time. Her silver hair was braided back from her head, and she was donned head to toe in silver and black, great tinkling silver earrings hung on either side of her face, framing her violet eyes as a low cut and flowing black silk dress framed the rest of her body. A cape made with discarded dragon scales hung over her shoulders, and when she stood to approach him, the soft swish of their protection could be heard in the throne room.

It was obvious that Daenerys and her war party had landed just a few short months ago, the rooms leading to the throne were still mostly closed or dusty, but once they were tended for and cleaned, Daenerys would have the most opulent seat in all of Westeros. Every room was outfitted with silver enhancements or dragonglass which made Jon’s heart race. Everywhere he looked, he either saw wealth or a way to defeat his enemies.

But when you looked at the Dragon Queen, you would never know that she had traveled hard, fought well, or had ever done anything other than rule completely. She was fearless and strong and every inch the ruler Jon was not.

It was overwhelming, and he found himself unable to answer her question.

“Why. Ask. It?” She repeated, looking at Jon intently, stepping down another stair towards him.

He sighed and looked away from her for the first time since entering her throne room. It was hard to form the appropriate thoughts he needed to convince her the White Walkers are real, let alone that he needed her help. She was clearly someone who could take care of herself, it was hard to imagine her believing that there was a threat out there larger than herself. Let alone that it was a host of dead men lead by a dead king of old.

Jon took a deep breath, touched his fingers to the edge of his black fur cloak, and then lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“White Walkers,” he said simply.

She stopped, eyeing him carefully, “White Walkers?” She glanced quickly at Tyrion, who motioned for her to continue. “What are those?”

Jon breathed deep, summoning up a vision of the creatures he had met north of the wall, and who soon would be at the wall.

“They are the dead, but also the living,” he explained. “They walk and they kill, but they are nothing human. There is an entire army if them, north of The Wall. And they are coming. As winter falls they travel south, and when they meet the wall, we need to meet them with weapons.” He gestured behind her, at her throne made of dragon glass jutting out of the floor at an angle, powerful and shimmering black. “Weapons made of dragon glass. Forged into every shape imaginable. I’ve amassed a force to meet them, and while the aide of any man would help, what we need most of all, is dragon glass. We’ve found some in the north, mentions of it in old books and hidden away in treasuries, but we need more. The walkers are a threat to all of Westeros, and without a supply of dragon glass to fight them, the Night King will win. He will kill everyone, from The Wall to King’s Landing, and further south still. And they take no prisoners, no one will be safe. All of us,” he threw a hand out to gesture around the room, “Every man. Every woman. Every child, every king,” he glanced at Dany, “Every queen, will fall. They are numerous, hard to kill, and we are short on supplies to do what we can. Short on men, short on everything. But primarily, short on dragon glass. Without it, what forces we do have will be useless.”  

Daenerys laughed, cruel and short. “You expect me to believe there is what, an army of the living dead north of the wall?”

Jon ignored her, “I am a Stark.” He said proudly, “Whatever else I may be, I am a Stark.”

The Queen paused eyeing him, her silver hair reflecting the light in the room, her throne of dragon glass glinting as the sun began to fall. This was not what she was expecting, and she nearly wanted to laugh, but Varys looked uncomfortable, as did Tyrion. For some reason, what Jon had said had made them think. Could it really be?

“I am Stark,” Jon repeated, his eyes blazing and his voice firm, “So I know beyond a doubt that _Winter is Coming._ There is nothing more than that. Our eternal summer will end, and then what?” Jon whirled, his hands held wide as he looked around the room. “What happened in winter? None of us has lived long enough to see it. What dangers might love to lurk in the North? In the snow and the cold, who is there? Who _lives_? Who _dies_? Who _endures_?”

Tyrion stepped forth, his hands out stretched, “The Starks have been saying this for years.” He smiled at his Queen, “Who are you to say what winter is? That winter is even here?”

Jon smiled wryly, “Who is anyone, indeed?” He turned away, his back to Daenerys, his black as night cloak whirling around him. “Who is anyone?”

Daenerys frowned, “Get on with it. Stop with this posturing.”

Lifting his head, Jon stared her dead on, “They are coming, and they will kill us all.”

His voice was unyielding, absolute, and there was no room for brokering.

Daenerys waved a hand, glancing about her as she dismissed her staff one by one. If this was some kind of universal threat, she did not need her staff knowing about it. And if it wasn’t, she did not need them worrying about it.

Tyrion lingered at the door, but she nodded at him, assuming he would not go far. The man inclined his head and went around the corner of the room, waiting for her to be done. Varys was nowhere in sight, but she assumed he had done as she asked, but behind the thinnest door he could find, listening hard.

“So, tell me,” she said, her voice echoing about the room, “Why should I believe you?”

Jon smiled, but glanced at his feet. She was resistant, as he had expected.

“I have seen many things,” he began, “Things no man should see.”

“As have I,” she said, interrupting him.

He ignored her, but did glance into her eyes, pleading with her. “I have seen my friends and family slaughtered by these men. I have fought against them, tooth and nail until I thought I was going to die.” He sighed, “I want your help. I need dragon glass, as much as I can get my hands on. I can offer you a trade, but I cannot trade man power for you army, and I cannot offer food or supplies. I can offer gold, as soon we won’t be needing it, we’ll be too busy fighting.”

That made her brows go up, “You have no men to spare?”

He nodded, “No men. No women. No child. Everyone is being utilized one way or another for the fight. The things we have to do.” He shook his head and looked to the distance, “I have seen boys barely old enough to walk trained in how to care for horses, boys who have just seen their tenth summer taught to fight, little girls barely fifteen taken from their families and trained in how to make armor, shape dragon glass and to wield a spear. Young women who should be thinking about balls and dances and catching their sweetheart’s eye abandon their embroidery needles in favor of daggers and shields. I even came here alone. Me. Their _King in the North._ ” He almost scoffed, but it was a title he took seriously, had to take seriously. “Travelling alone to meet a foreign queen, to ask for her help. There is no one here but me.”

That grabbed her attention, “You really… You did that? Trained the women to fight?”

“We have no choice,” he said, “and truth be told, some of the best warriors we have are women.” He smiled, “You might like some of them.”

Daenerys hummed. “Indeed.”

Jon straightened his shoulders, “Confer with your people. I have asked a great deal, I know this, I am not a fool. Ask Varys, I am sure he knows a thing or two about the walkers. They are an old legend, but they are still a legend, I am sure he has heard tell of them. We need the dragon glass, I can tell you that for certain. And if you want to rule Westeros, I will not stop you.”

“Is that so?” She asked.

He inclined his head, “Leave me Winterfell, and I will be happy. Leave me my friends in the North, you would not find us unwilling subjects, I think. I have no desire to rule an entire country, nor will I ever. But if you want to rule Westeros, there has to _be_ a Westeros to rule. And if we do not fight the White Walkers with everything we have, there will be _nothing_ for you to claim. It is in your best interests to help us, with men, women, dragon, and _dragon glass._ But I will settle for the glass only if that is what you have to give, in time you will see the threat of the walkers as I do, it is just a matter of when. Once you do, you and your men will have no choice but to join me.”

Dany watched as he turned and left, leaving the same way he came in, alone and standing tall, a cloud of black swirling around him.

She stayed where she was, and waited for Varys and Tyrion to re-enter the room.

Turning, she faced them with her face sober, “What do we know?”

Varys paused, then lifted a hand, “I am afraid, I do not have good news.”

* * *

 

The more information Daenerys heard, the angrier she became.

She was _this_ close to her goal, had spent months and months preparing for the scenario on Westeros as they knew it, and they knew _nothing._ There was an entirely different situation they now had to face, and it was nothing they had prepared for.

Varys had heard murmurings, as he always did, but without any credibility behind them, until now. What Jon spoke of, it was being whispered from The Wall and from Winterfell, men and women and children alike knew of the threat. The entire North was united against them, and for once, they were all focused on the same target. For the first time in a long time, the North had a purpose beyond watching and waiting.

They had always done it, standing stalwart, waiting for the air to chill and the snow to fall, but now it had, and again they remembered why they were there, why they lived so close to The Wall. Why The Wall even existed.

Tyrion, he had heard strange things from the North as well, had seen their withdrawal from politics in the south, but he had never imagined it was anything other than the lot of them regrouping and wanting to take on the Lannisters. Someone was always trying to kill the Lannisters.

Now, the North had greater concerns.

Dany stormed through her castle, the castle she had worked for, who she had put all of her effort into reclaiming. Her first step into her foray to conquer Westeros, the place where she could freely let her dragons soar and screech into the night, where they always came back to roost like they had lived there all their lives.

It was _everything._ And now everything had changed.

She was tired of things changing, tired of having a mess to clean. She shouldn’t care if the North died fighting these Walkers, and she shouldn’t care if they came for her. She had her dragons, surely, they would prove no match for her. No one ever did.

But she did care if they all died. Blast it.

She couldn’t let them all throw themselves into the void just to be noble. They needed to win, to survive.

She pushed open the door of the guest quarters where Jon was staying, banging the door against the stone wall.

“Tell me everything you know of the Walkers, their plan, what they are after.” She demanded of a wide-eyed Jon, “Then, we shall talk.”

Jon blinked quickly, “Everything?”

“Yes,” she said seriously, slamming the door behind her with more force than necessary. Somewhere in the castle, she could hear a dragon screech in complaint. They could probably hear her raised voice.

Daenerys paced the room as Jon talked, still wearing the same outfit from earlier in the day. Normally, she would have changed, but action was needed immediately, and she would not waste time on a wardrobe change when she could be doing something of use.

Jon was much more relaxed, barefoot, boots neatly by the door, stripped down to a black as night under shirt with laces pulled closed at the throat, and a pair of black trousers made of a thick wool to stave off the cold. He sat on the bed, atop his discarded cloak, and began at the beginning.

He told her tales of The Wall, of his brothers in black, of venturing north. He told her of Ygritte and the other Wildlings, and he told her of coming south again. About how he had died.

She eyes him suspiciously then, her eyes sharp, “You came back from the dead?”

“Aye,” he affirmed.

“But you are not a walker.”

“No.” He lifted up his shirt, showing her the deep stab wound that still lingered on his chest. “I am not a walker, but I did die.”

She stopped. “And you came back.”

“Aye.”

She looked away then, her eyes swimming. It was possible… But it was ridiculous. Jon had been dead for only hours when he came back. Drogo was a skeleton, he would come back a rattling mess, if at all.

She dismissed the thought outright. There was no hope for her past. The future was all that mattered.

Drawing her brows together and folding her arms she lifted her chin, “Then what?”

Jon quickly got the sense that the Dragon Queen was smart, scrappy, and above all, knew how to handle herself. There was nothing she could not do, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved. She would conquer Westeros, and he had the vague notion that it would be a sight to behold when she did.

When he was done, he fell silent, waiting for her to respond.

Daenerys had paced to the side of the room, and was looking out over the sea, listening to the waves crash on her island of would-be weapons.

She had to help him. She had no choice. He wasn’t lying, Tyrion and Varys had heard bits and pieces of his story since it had begun, and now here he was, the man at the center of it all, the would-be savior of Westeros. And he needed her help.

Westeros needed her help. Not just as a land who needed a new and fairer and kinder ruler, but as a land on the brink of being destroyed.

She had the best army in the world, she knew that beyond any doubt. Without her, Jon Stark and his force in the north would all die. And all of Westeros would follow, a victim to their ill-preparedness.

She could leave. Take her fleet and her army back across the sea, live out her time in the warm clime, ruling over the lands she had already visited. Keeping the slavers under her boots, grinding them into dust.

But her home land would die. And every one who lived there.

She turned to face Jon, her face set and her mind clear. There was only one way to do this. They had to join forces. In every way possible. And when she crushed the Walkers, as she had crushed everyone she had faced before, she would take all of Westeros.

“Marry me,” she said simply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all kindly for the kudos and comment! I love seeing them all, and I appreciate it deeply. Chapter sponsored by the song 'Middle of Things, Beautiful Wife', by Sango feat. Xavier Omar. Now, we get to the reason for the rating, this was much longer than intended, but I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did!

Jon sat up and shot off of his bed, “What?”

She turned to face him, mindful that her shoulders were drawn back and that her chin was high.

“Marry me.” She repeated. “We will defeat the Walkers, together. And then we will take Westeros, together.”

“You can help me without marrying me, you do know,” he said, eyeing her cautiously. He thought she was out of her mind.

“Indeed. I could.” She walked towards him, her voice smooth and calm, her steps even. “But I will not.”

“Why?” He asked, bewildered.

“I will give you everything, all that you ask. A fighting force that is unmatched in battle. Three dragons to smite our foes. Dragon glass enough to fight these Walkers, and the only creatures capable of making more.” She stopped, three feet from him, her eyes boring into his, “But I need allies. And you, Jon, are an ally. A good one. One who can help me take the throne which I was born for.”

He frowned, “I do not want to rule Westeros.”

She smiled, “You won’t, I will. Though I suspect you would still want to be heavily involved in affairs in the North. All of it will be considerably easier to do so with the North united, under you. And you, united with me.”

“Fine. Then I don’t want to marry you.”

She glanced down, then back up at Jon. “But you need to. I will not help you unless we are wed.”

“So you’ll blackmail me?” He asked, incredulous.

Daenerys sighed, “Listen, Jon Stark, King in the North.”

He raised his brows.

“I do not _want_ to marry someone, but marriage is the easiest way to build ties. I have left behind a _lot_ to come here and fulfill my destiny. Lovers, friends, entire kingdoms. I have built up everything I have from nothing. I have _suffered_ in ways I think you understand and yet could never understand. I will stop at _nothing_ to achieve what I came here for. I will not hesitate to marry when I feel it will be my advantage. And you, Jon, are an advantage.”

“A political marriage then?” He asked.

“And more,” she said, “If you are willing. I can see it in you, you are a good man. I’ve heard many people say so, even before you arrive, your reputation proceeded you. A good man doing what he can to save his home, his people. Someone who people respect and look to for guidance. A real, true, and good leader. I think with time, we could grow quite fond of one another.” She swept her arms to her sides, her cape of dragon scales and black sheer silk moving with her, “What have you heard of me?”

Jon ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her closely. “In all honesty?” He asked, “Nothing.”

She raised her brows, “You are not paying attention then, Jon.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed. I am a Targaryen, surely you know that much.”

Jon nodded.

“I want the same as you,” she said, “a world united for the greater good. A world free of suffering and death. Free from slavery, and a world which can stand together against the unknown. I have worked hard to see that vision realized everywhere I have gone, and I have succeeded.” She swelled with pride at the memories, standing tall as she spoke clearly to Jon. “People resisted me. Slavers, men who would abuse women, terrible men who would profit from the despair from others. I have cut them down. And the people who remained, the good kind people who make the world a better place, they were happy and they were free. That is who I am. I will not go back to suffering, and I will not allow those around me to suffer. In my quest to do so, I will take back my familial throne, and I will take Westeros. But I wish to do so with as little blood shed as possible. Your people, the people of the North. They sound like good people, people I would like to help. If you join me, I will help them, and when the fighting starts, when I cut down the Lannisters and the Walkers, they will be safe with my army to protect them. Our army, to protect them. But if you do not marry me, I cannot guarantee I can help them. They may fight me, and I _will_ have to fight back. I need to know all of them are with me, that I can trust them, and the best way to do so, and to be able to protect them, is for us to wed.”

Jon swore, looking down at the smaller woman who was filled with so much righteous destiny it came off of her in waves. She was absolute. Formidable. Fearsome and awe inspiring in her righteousness. He could easily see why people followed her.

And she was right. If he married her, she would have the North with her, and the North would have her. All marriages were a trade deal of sorts, and this deal would save the North, his home, his family. All of Westeros even.

It would give them both a guarantee. Hers, the cooperation of the North, one less enemy to fight when she took over, and the North would live. Thrive even, with Jon being their king. All of Westeros’s king, but especially the North’s.

He could save the North, better it even. If she did as she said, brought the Dragons to the North, they could win. He was sure of it. She was determined, she was willing to work with him, and she was just what they needed. With his plan, the Northern Army, her dragons, and her warriors, they could win. They would win. There was no other option.

“I accept.” He said, bluntly.

She smiled, like the cat who got the cream. She did always get what she was after, and now with his help, she would defeat this new enemy, and together they would conquer all of Westeros.

“You are sure?” She asked, eyeing him carefully, “There is no backing out after this.”

Jon stayed silent, and instead looked around the room, gathering his thoughts. There was a large fireplace to one side, keeping the chilled sea air at bay. There was no glass in the windows, letting in a gentle breeze that moves Daenerys’s hair as she stood there, watching him. Otherwise, the room was outfitted with a bed only, and a giant dragon glass chandelier over it, other luxuries having not yet arrived, he assumed.

 When he glanced back at her, her eyes glinted in the flames, and Jon got the sense that she was at home here. He knew she had arrived scant weeks ago, but already she was home here on Dragonstone. He suspected she would be at home on any throne, here or abroad.

And really, given the course of events in his life so far, would marrying her harm anything? Some months ago he had come to the realization that he would need to marry someone, someone noble, now that he was both the oldest living male Stark and the King in the North. He saw it much the same way Daenerys did, a duty to be done and a way to protect his people.

Given his acceptance, how many options did he really have? He couldn’t very well marry Cersei Lannister, and no one could rival Daenerys for the benefits she presented. No one even came close.

He looked deep into her eyes, making sure he knew this was absolute, that he understood the choice he was making.

“I am sure.”

She smiled wide then, “You are smart.”

He raised one eyebrow, “I like to believe.”

“You would not be here if you were not.” She mused.

They gazed at one another for a moment, each likely waiting for the earth to shift, some great sign that this was a terrible idea. Or a wonderful one. No such signs came. They were alone with their decision.

She stepped in closer to him, eyeing his face.

“What is it?” He asked.

“You are handsome,” she stated plainly. “I knew I would have to marry someone… But this was sooner than I imagined. I also know that you care about your people, what Varys and Tyrion have told me makes that clear. I admire that.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said stiffly.

She smiled wider, stepping in closer, “You are always this formal?”

Chuffing, he loosened his limbs, “Only recently.”

“You have lived a hard life,” she said, losing her smile. “I am sorry for that.”

He tilted his head, “And you have not?”

She looked to the windows, listening again to the sea. “I have… Seen much. I will tell you about it, your own honesty deserves to be rewarded. But not now.”

“No?” He frowned at her, “What now then?”

The Dragon Queen did not answer, instead she moved to his bed, and sat down, discarding her cloak at the foot.

“Now,” she said, looking up at him, “I am tired and I wish to sleep.”

Jon glanced around, then set his eyes on her again, watching her she trailed delicate fingers over the fur on his coat. Sansa had spent a long time working on it, insisting he must be presentable for the Queen. She would be out of her mind if she saw how he had just tossed it onto his bed.

He glanced at her cloak at the ground, then back at her fingers, “Here?”

She hummed, “We now represent the two most valuable people in Westeros. The King in the North, and the Dragon Queen, do we not?”

“I suppose we do.”

“We are easier kept safe in one place.” She said simply, then smiled. “My guards are outside the door, they will protect us.”

Jon stepped towards her, uncertain. “So, you are staying here?”

She hummed again, a coy woman of few words.

He took another step towards her, his knees almost hitting the foot of the bed.

“Jon,” she said, lolling her head to one side, her hair falling over one shoulder as she looked up at him, “I have spent ages on a boat. And ages still alone in this castle.”

She waited, and when he said nothing, she smiled.

“Are you shy Jon?”

He blinked rapidly. “It has been some time.”

“Ygritte,” she supplied.

“Hmm.” He affirmed.

“I have a philosophy.” She said, shaking her shoulders and the moving her hands to her hair, pulling out some of the smaller braids.

“Which is?” Jon asked, moving to sit next to her.

“That you should never be alone, when you have the option to be together.”

That made him laugh. “Simple as that?”

She pulled at another braid, “If you allow it to be, absolutely.”

Jon lifted his hands and tangled them with hers, helping her undo the many braids in her hair. He was sad to see it gone, but he had to imagine that some of the bulkier ones at the back would not make for easy sleeping. Her hair was soft and silky, exactly as beautiful as it looked.

“You have lovely hair,” he commented softly.

Daenerys allowed her hands to fall away. “Thank you.”

Jon continued to work, pulling at ties and smoothing out braids, his fingers moving softly through the ends and firmly massaging her scalp as he neared the roots. Daenerys could feel herself relaxing under his hands, truly, they were the hands of a man with a kind soul. Kind, but still innately strong. Capable.

Tyrion had been right.

The men she had been with in the past, all of them were fearsome and strong, but few of them truly kind. Kind to her maybe, but generous and giving in the way Jon was? Never.

He had given his life to his people, his family, to saving the world, and that was to be admired. He was a leader where no one else would lead, _could_ lead. And together, the two of them tackled their first problem, the many braids she had winding through her hair.  

When he was done, and his fingers drifting through the lengths, massaging her, Daenerys allowed herself to fall back against his chest, relaxing truly for the first time since they had set sail.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“Peace of mind,” she said.

His chest rumbled, “Me?”

“Yes you. You have no idea how this changes things.”

“I should be thanking you,” Jon said. “You have saved my people, my home. This is…” His hands stilled. “It’s almost too much.”

Daenerys lifted a hand a placed it over his, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed, to settle against him more firmly, “It is nothing.”

Jon relaxed under her, “You are truly ok with a political marriage? You could have anyone.”

“I cannot,” she said simply. “A Queen is not free, she is in service to her people. And as such, it is my responsibility to make the most fortuitous match I can. It could be much worse.”

“Could it?” He asked, his voice careful.

“Mmm.” She said, thinking, “My first husband did not treat me well on our wedding night. Men after that were not much kinder. And even when they were, they were not men I could be with.”

“Why not?” Jon’s fingers began moving in her hair again, giving it volume and spreading the curls out all around them.

“They offered my people nothing.”

“Ah.” He said, understanding. It was cruel, but it was the lot of those in power to marry for advantage.

“You, on the other hand…” she said, moving suddenly to spin, her hair tumbling freely around her shoulders now, and faced him. Daenerys planted her hands on his shoulders and looked him square in the eye. Jon distantly thought that she looked like a glorious warrior then, her eyes flinty and her hair wild, every bone in her body determined as she spoke.

“I have heard many things about you,” She said. “You have done as I have, clawed your way to where you are. A bastard son ascended to a king. And not just any king, your people accept you. Respect you. No Lannister can claim that. Except Tyrion, perhaps. People respect him.” She shifted to one leg, looking him up and down, then focusing again. “I was a beaten girl sold off to a Kahl for some horses by the only family I had left. I have fought hard for everything I have. I was not born into status, as my ancestors were, but I was born to seize it, and seize it I have. Just as you have. We are similar like that.” She smiled, dazzling Jon for a moment, “You offer much, in addition to kindness and strength. I did not make my proposal with no forethought; my advisors had mentioned you more than once. Though I was resistant at the time, you have changed everything. The Walkers have changed everything. And I must adapt. And if adapting means marrying for politics, to someone I can admire, someone who offers me support where I need it, and to whom I can offer it in return…” She looked over Jon’s shoulder and spoke to the wall then, softly. “It means much to me.”

Jon looked at her, taking in everything about her. She was not what he was expecting. She cared deeply, though in her throne room she hid it well. In private, she was fire incarnate. Truly a Dragon Queen.

Then he leaned in, slowly, hesitantly.

Daenerys held no such hesitation. Her eyes glanced to meet his, and then they lowered, her lids going half-mast. She leaned into Jon and kissed him fiercely, meeting him halfway.

Jon could feel the flames envelop him immediately. His world ablaze with dragon fire. This was magnificence. Fire to melt the cold he felt deep inside of him, to help him put aside his troubles for a moment. And it happened swiftly, all of his limbs warmed, and from deep in his chest he felt a heat blossom. He leaned back, and Daenerys hopped into his lap, not shy at all.

A slit in the side of her dress allowed the dark material to slide up her pale skin, revealing two strong legs which settled on their side of him, folded under so she was straddling him, her hands at either side of his face, fingers tickling the edges of his hair.

Hands flying into her hair, Jon pulled her closer, his hips moving upwards against her instinctually, and he could feel her smile against his lips. They moved together there, both of them pushing and pulling, eeking out what sounds they could from the other.

She tore her mouth away and ground down on him, biting the column of his neck and shifting from side to side. It had been much too long for her, and this was exquisite. The perfect remedy for all of the travelling she had been doing, and the perfect celebration for this triumph. This was so much more than she had been expecting, but she felt good about the outcome, especially the part she was astride. She distantly felt like she was a very lucky woman that the man she would marry was clearly well equipped for pleasing her, among other things.

Experimentally, she slowed her hips and carefully dragged her over his already hard length. Her breath shuddered out of her, and her hips picked up rhythm again, eager to chase her climax.

Jon groaned from deep within his chest, one hand moving from her hair to travel down her back and cup her ass, pulling her in closer still.

They both sighed at that, and her hips stilled for a moment as she took it in, and then she renewed with greater pressure.

“Shit,” Jon swore, meeting her pace, if they kept like this he would embarrass himself, and then where would they be? Dany bit down on his tongue and then moved to his neck, biting hard at the base.

He turned and pulled Dany with him, laying her down on his cloak and pulling their pelvises apart. She whined, but quickly stopped when he looked down at her.

His eyes were dark and glinting in the light, exactly as Dany was hoping they would be. He was extremely handsome, and she would enjoy every moment of this. Beneath his shirt, his chest was heaving, and Daenerys drifted idle hands down his front, tracing the contours, then back up to undo the laces at his throat.

“Daenerys,” he breathed heavily, watching her hands.

“Yes?” She asked, her own breath coming in heavier the more skin the revealed with her ministrations.

“You are sure about this?” he asked.

She smiled at him, glancing up before her attention again went to his chest, her fingers drifting over the new skin she had revealed there, “I am.”

He groaned and leaned down, their mouths clashing again.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tugged at the back of his shirt before he leaned up and yanked it off, his hair flying and then settling into place again and he continued kissing her, his tongue stroking against her and her nails digging into his shoulders.

It was like drifting through a dark warm fog, or floating in a hot spring, or even like those pools of cool water Daenerys had bathed in in cities. It was calming, and satisfied something deep inside of her.

The planes of his chest, which she traced over gently, dragging her nails as she went, were delicious. As his hands moved through her hair, over her sides, and up her legs, she could feel goose bumps breaking out, her scalp tingling as her body yearned to be closer to his.

She dug her nails into his sides, dragging him down so he was pressed against her again, and Jon fell gladly, molding his body to hers again.

“Jon,” Daenerys breathed.

“Hmm?” Jon did not stop kissing her neck.

“Did you hear that?” She asked.

Jon pulled back and frowned, “No?”

She glanced at the door, and they waited.

Softly, there was a knock.

“I’ll get it,” Jon huffed.

Her laugh followed him to the door, making Jon smile. She had a beautiful laugh.

He grabbed his sword on his way over, holding it at the ready as he composed his face and cracked the door open, glancing at who was on the other side.

It was Tyrion. Of course.

Tyrion glanced down and then up again, “Is the Queen in there with you?”

Jon grunted.

“Ah.” Tyrion said, smiling and then waving his arms at his side, “Good. I take it she is well then?”

“Tyrion?” Jon asked, ignoring his question.

“Yes, Jon Stark?”

“Is this important?” Jon asked carefully.

Tyrion shook his head.

“Then it can wait,” he informed the other man, and then closed the door.

He stopped, and then clarified loud enough for Tyrion to hear, “Until morning!”

Daenerys laughed again, and Tyrion could barely be heard saying, “Very well, understood!”

Jon dropped the sword unceremoniously to the floor and lumbered back to the bed, his steps heavy. Daenerys was waiting for him, her hair spread across the fur of his cloak, her hands moving idly at her sides as she admired the fur.

“You are a sight,” Jon muttered, nearly vaulting himself on top of the smaller woman.

Daenerys shifted, wrapping herself around him. “Indeed?”

He hummed and ghosted his lips over her neck, and down to the neckline of her dress. Dany arched her back and ran her hands through his hair, then hissed when his teeth gently clamped around one nipple.

“Jon,” she breathed.

“Yes?”

“We need to hurry this along.”

He frowned up at her.

She raised her eyebrows. Jon shrugged.

Daenerys laughed and wiggled until she was able to grip the edges of her dress and pull it over her head, then set her hands immediately onto the ties of Jon’s trousers.

Jon would have been more helpful, he was a full believer of being generous in the bedroom, but his breath was caught in his throat and all of his energy consumed with taking in every inch of Daenerys that he could.

She was pale as the moonlight, her hair glowed silver, and every inch of her body was smooth as a pearl. Every curve and plane seemed to glimmer, and when he ran his hands over them, she shivered or cooed or melted. He tried hard to remember ever seeing something so perfect before, but he came up with nothing, and he cataloged every noise she made and every movement for the future.

He knew it was political, he knew it was for his people, for her ambitions and her ideals, but this was a perk he would cherish. He knew a gift when he saw one.

Dany glanced up at him, and smiled, noticing his attention, but she refrained from commenting. She could tease him after, for now, she ached. She hadn’t spent so long alone in ages, and she felt a trepidacious like for Jon, enough to allow him into her bed anyway.

Quick fingers made light work of the laces on his trousers, and she shoved them down his body with her legs, arching her back and pressing against him.

Jon sighed, his cheek pressed to hers and his breath rushing hot against her ears. Daenerys did not move, and instead followed his lead, breathing in deeply and savoring the moment. There was nothing like this. Not conquering a new land, not making a new friend, gaining a new ally. Nothing compared to the hot anticipation Daenerys could feel climbing up her spine. The world was frozen for them like that, a moment pure joy, for just a second.

“Jon,” she whispered after a moment, pressing a kiss to his neck.

He let out a large breath, and then sprang like an arrow from the bow.

His mouth covered hers and his hands moved up her sides, moving inward to ghost over her breasts before burying themselves in her hair. Daenerys returned his fervor, with her nails dragging up his back and then digging into his trapezius, keeping him close as she shifted her hips, bucking upwards.

Jon bit her bottom lip and moved a hand from her hair down to her heat, ghosting one finger over her, catching her lightly. Daenerys felt even the smallest contact, her breathing stuttering when she felt the smallest pressure at her clit.

“You are cruel,” she mumbled.

Jon huffed, “I am not.”

She nodded, “You are, I insist.”

He lifted his head and gave her a droll look. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hand over her again, hovering so his palm was just a hair’s breadth from her. So close she could feel the heat coming off of his skin. She arched her back, but his hand moved away from her.

She scoffed up at him. “Cruel.”

Jon did not react, instead he moved suddenly, giving her what she wanted.

He twirled one finger around her clit, then pressed down on it.

Dany gasped, and clenched her nails harder. Jon had the distant idea that she was close to breaking the skin, but he didn’t really care. If it hurt, it would be a good pain. But ever since dying, he hardly felt it at all anyway.

“Jon, please,” she said, “Hurry.”

He smiled and kissed her then, dropping his droll look. She sucked on his tongue and his fingers swirled around her, making her wet.

“Jon, I swear.” She gasped, as he dragged two fingers up either side of her folds and then massaged her clit.

“Mmm,” he cooed briefly, and then bit off a swear.

Dany wrapped a hand around his own length, exacting her revenge. She gently stroked up and then down the smooth skin, twisting her wrist as he moved, matching the same pace he had taken when playing with her. The fires burned in both of them, curling tight around spines and making their heads spin.

“Shit,” he said, “Fine.”

She sighed, “Finally.”

Jon took himself in hand, then pressed at her entrance. He gently slicked himself up and then down her slit, gathering moisture and drawing out the moment. Sending Daenerys growing impatient again, he pressed into her, slowly sliding his length inside.

“Ahh,” Dany breathed, her back arching to meet him.

Jon bit down hard on his lip, screwing his eyes shut as he slid in to the hilt, stretching her open and settling between her legs.

Daenerys’s hands scratched down his back and then dug into his ass, urging him to move.

He snapped his eyes open and looked into hers, seeing his own firing need matched there, her own urgency.

So Jon moved.

He started slower than he knew she would like, pulling out to nearly the tip and then sliding back in. Then as her nails dug in harder, he moved faster, thrusting in and out, biting down on her neck and groaning when he felt her clench around him.

Daenerys found herself going out of her mind, her body almost beyond control as she rose higher and higher, the heat pooling in her spine, forcing her back to arch and for her body to press even closer. She licked the column of his neck and did everything she could to egg him on. She begged for him to move faster (he obliged). She asked for him to please keep going (he did).

And when she finally shattered, he did not stop moving.

* * *

 

Daenerys laid under Jon’s cloak and two more layers of furs and a silk blanket, fighting off the chill wind which had blown in from the north. Jon held her close to his chest, running a hand up and down her arm.

“What now?” He asked.

She shrugged, “Tomorrow, we talk to my people. Then we plan, and we gather.”

“Dragon glass first,” he murmured.

Dany nodded, “Dragon glass first. I am sure Varys knows someone who can create weapons from it.” She mused for a moment. “Perhaps a dragon could melt it and it could be shaped when it is soft. Like a blacksmith at a forge.”

Jon’s chest vibrated. “Perhaps. We will find out in any case.”

Her head moved slowly in a nod, and Daenerys fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time! I imagine I will have more coming in as the season progresses. ;)


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